This post has been a long time in the making. I’ve stopped and started many times. I’ve trashed it. Started over. Edited. It’s been the most difficult to write. THIS IS WHAT A HIATUS WILL DO TO YOU, K!
I’ve been moping around for a couple of weeks. I have a birthday coming up. I’m always morose around birthdays. Any one’s birthday. And when I have one just around the corner, I get all quiet and sullen and sarcastic. For days now I’ve been making really terrible jokes, telling V he should start referring to me as “The answer to Life, the Universe and Everything”. Hey if you can call someone “The artist formerly known as Prince”, this shouldn’t be a stretch. Right? Right.
Before you assume, incorrectly, this is not a rant about growing old – I don’t really care about growing old. I know I’ll like me-at-42 way better than me-at-32. Let’s not even talk about me-at-22 (shudders theatrically). And I’m quite sure if I get to 52 I’ll be a self-loving, self-adoring, self-indulgent mass of amazing – wrinkles, thinning curls and all. So no, not really about birthdays or growing old.
I just wanted to say ‘Hello’. I have missed writing about things I can’t not write about.
I have missed you.